If Memory Serves
by highland laurel
Summary: When Mingo meets a familiar stranger, his memory recalls the first meeting. Contains backstory to the episode "First in War, First in Peace."
1. Chapter 1

If Memory Serves

If Memory Serves

Prologue

Birkett Fletcher. The name suddenly flashed into Mingo's mind as he lay propped against the rock, his hand protectively covering the bullet hole in his left shoulder near his collar bone. Daniel had been gone only minutes, trying to stop an assassination of President Washington. "If only I had remembered sooner," he thought sadly. "If only I had curbed my temper Daniel wouldn't be alone now, facing an unknown number of assassins. My temper may finally have caused a death. But not yours, Daniel. Not yours. Godspeed my friend, Godspeed."

Sighing heavily, Mingo pulled the blanket close and took another swallow of brandy. He laid his head back onto the supporting rock and closed his eyes. His body was weary with the travel of the day, the shock, the pain and the blood loss. If he was going to help his friend he needed to regain strength. He drifted slowly down into the arms of sleep. His memories became his dreams as he floated backwards through the years to see himself as he had been, a youth nearing graduation from Oxford.

Chapter 1

"Edmund, you will complete your education at the Royal Military Academy. It is not a matter open for discussion. Now present yourself to Commander Holmes as I have told you to do. Then come home." Lord Dunsmore snapped his lips tightly shut and turned from his rebellious son. His handsome coat flared away from his tall body as he stepped into his coach, his jeweled hand pulling the door closed behind him. Edmund stood rigidly before the impressive edifice, his brown face pulled into its customary mask of indifference. Behind him he heard the coach pull away.

"I will not 'complete' my education at the Royal Military Academy. As far as I'm concerned my education here is complete." Edmund's determined mind closed off all other thoughts as he continued to stand before the large building. A tall man brushed past him, purposely jarring his shoulder. 

"Stand aside and allow me to pass," the voice said disdainfully. Edmund turned his head to see a handsome, haughty man standing at his right shoulder. His blue eyes were filled with dislike as he glanced at the tall dark youth beside him. "Begone. This is the Royal Military Academy. One must be invited to attend here, not present oneself and beg." 

Edmund's dark eyes flashed in anger. His hands clenched before he controlled his muscles and relaxed. With great strength of will he made his own eyes reflect the contempt he could see in the other man's icy depths. "You must either not know who I am, or you are very careless in your position, sir. Your manners are sorely lacking."

The other man's eyebrows lowered and color flooded his pale face. He stood rooted to the ground, staring into Edmund's brown eyes. Both refused to give and the seconds passed slowly. Finally a sneer lifted the other man's lips. "You must not know who_ I_ am, and _you _are very careless in _your_ position, of which you have none. _You_ obviously need lessons in the proper behavior towards your betters."

"I seriously doubt that you are the one to teach me as your own behavior is sadly lacking in the basic courtesies." Edmund's bold answer surprised the older man. The Englishman sucked in his breath. The insult was plain. Tradition and position demanded action. Peeling his glove from his left hand, he struck Edmund across the face. Rocking back from the blow, Edmund stiffened and nodded his head. His dark eyes locked on the blue eyes before him.

"I accept your challenge. As the one challenged, I demand the right to choose the weapons of honor."

The Englishman nodded his head. "Before you do something foolish and fatal, let me inform you that I am an instructor at this institution and well trained in all manner of weapons. Choose carefully or it will be the last choice you ever make." The threat was plain and Edmund swallowed before answering. His voice was calm as he controlled his emotions.

"I will meet you here tomorrow at noon. I will have my choice of weapons at that time. Do you object?"

The Englishman smirked into Edmund's flushed face. "Not at all. An element of surprise does nothing but whet my military skills. A good soldier anticipates the unknown. I look forward to the meeting. Here is my card." The officer drew a creamy card from inside his uniform coat. In flowing script the card proclaimed:

Burkitt Fletcher

Instructor at Arms

Royal Military Academy, London

Edmund took the card and presented his own. The English captain's eyes widened in surprise and he colored brightly. Edmund's position was clearly marked in simple words:

Edmund Kerr Murray

London

Without another word between them Edmund turned and walked proudly down the sidewalk toward his father's house. He needed to compose himself and prepare his mind for his coming trial. Behind him Burkitt Fletcher walked into the Academy to do the same.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Edmund slipped into his room and sat down on the floor to compose himself. His impetuous temper may have just cost him his life, or at the very least his honor. Silently he sat and thought, reviewing all the common English weapons in his mind. Suddenly his mind caught at an idea and in the succeeding seconds elaborated upon it. He smiled as the plan took shape in his facile mind.

When Calvin Cushing joined him later in the evening for a prearranged weekend together Edmund explained his encounter at the Academy and his resulting plan. Lord Dunsmore had been surprised to welcome the vicar's son into his home but was secretly glad. His own son seemed finally to be making the necessary connections for advancement through English society. And though a vicar's son wasn't in a position to help with social connections, it was always helpful for a powerful man to have friends in the Church. 

Calvin tried to find a way for Edmund to honorably avoid the contest, but his friend seemed to be looking forward to it. After an hour of fruitless conversation Calvin sighed and admitted defeat. Together the two young men embellished Edmund's plan.

They arrived the next day at the Royal Military Academy promptly at noon. Calvin was nervous but Edmund seemed strangely at ease. When they entered the large front hall approaching footsteps boomed in the dark vault. In the dim light Burkitt Fletcher looked every inch the British officer that he was. He carried himself with an hauteur beyond the average British officer. Calvin glanced at Edmund and was startled to see the gleam of pride in his friend's dark eyes. 

The captain stopped inches from Edmund's chest and surveyed his opponent. The sneer that lifted his lips widened as he observed no weapons and assumed that the youth had decided to bow out of the contest and admit his error. But Burkitt Fletcher was about to find his own error of yesterday compounded.

"Sir, I ask that we use the weapons on these premises. I do not have any others at my disposal." Edmund's voice betrayed no fear or doubt. The captain's sneer became a grin as he made a mock bow.

"What weapon have you decided upon, Master Murray? Pistols? I thought your father would loan you his matched pair."

"My father knows nothing of this contest, Captain Fletcher. This is between you and me."

"Indeed. I expected that you would send your regrets. I admit that I am surprised to see you, though pleased. As an instructor here I am always looking for an opportunity to teach. And I have heard that you would make an apt pupil; something about your 'native ability'?" Captain Fletcher's eyes glowed with his prejudicial taunt. Beside Calvin Edmund's hands clenched, the gesture lost in the darkness of the hall.

"Shall we continue then? I choose bayonets, Captain Fletcher."

"Bayonets?" The captain's voice rose in the quiet hall, the sound echoing against the dark panels.

"Bayonets. It is my right to choose, is it not? I choose bayonets."

Several seconds passed, then Captain Fletcher turned and walked to a door. He opened it and beckoned Edmund and Calvin. Walking through the door the friends could see that they were in an immense armory. The walls were lined with rows of rifles. At the end of the room were racks of bayonets. The captain pulled a rifle from the row, tossed it to Edmund, then took one for himself. He walked the twenty paces to the bayonets and began to affix one to the end of his rifle. Edmund copied him and within the space of a minute the two men were ready to settle the matter of honor.

Captain Fletcher led Edmund to a small practice field in the shelter of the large armory. The students and officers were all at the noon meal so the two contestants were completely alone except for Calvin Cushing. As Captain Fletcher walked he quickly tightened his bayonet onto his rifle. Edmund had more difficulty, not being used to the weapon. 

Burkitt Fletcher noticed the lack of knowledge and smiled in satisfaction. The contest would be brief and the uncouth colonial youth would be taught a much-needed lesson, heir or no heir. A wave of indignation swept over the captain at the unfairness of life, that a wild Indian from America would inherit one of England's greatest fortunes simply because of his existence. Bitterness began to swell beneath the captain's red coat, causing a scarlet flush to spread over his sharp-featured face. His hands tightened on the rifle.

As the Englishman balanced his weapon and faced his opponent he was amazed to see the tall youth remove his shoes and stockings as well as his coat and stock. After unbuttoning his top two shirt buttons and rolling his sleeves, Edmund then likewise lifted the heavy weapon and placed his feet in a well-balanced stance. He flexed his knees and bounced on the balls of his feet. The captain made a sudden rush, stabbing for Edmund's ribs. The violence of the attack startled the Oxford youth as he parried the blow and the force pushed him backwards and off balance. 

Recovering quickly, Edmund braced himself and faced the attacking instructor. Fletcher had followed the force of the blow, spun, and again stabbed at the youth. Edmund watched the maneuver, then danced sideways to avoid the blow. He brought his heavy rifle down on the other man's fingers, crushing them against his own gun. The numbing pain caused the captain to drop his weapon. Edmund's chance was ripe. But instead of pushing his bayonet into the captain's ribs, he backed away several steps to allow the other man to rearm himself.

The chivalrous gesture enraged the English captain. He grabbed his rifle and slashed upward, seeking to disembowel the young man opposite him. Calvin shouted in alarm as Edmund sprang backwards, the slashing knife blade missing his stomach by inches. Scrambling backwards, keeping his rifle before him to use as a blocking tool, Edmund frantically tried to ward off the repeated blows of the bloodthirsty officer.

Panting, muttering curses under his breath, Burkitt Fletcher continued to stab at Edmund's tall body. He could tell that the youth was tiring and he pushed forward in one last strong drive. Once again he ripped the bayonet upward, seeking to kill the young man before him. Blinded by his desire to destroy, the British officer did not notice the approach of two other officers. 

The bayonet sliced through Edmund's loose cotton shirt and tore from his waist upwards. The knife just touched the skin, causing a red line to course from his navel to his breastbone. Caught in the fabric, Fletcher's bayonet was ineffective for the space of a heartbeat. And in that heartbeat Edmund swung the butt of his rifle up under the chin of his opponent and dropped him to the ground. 

Seconds passed as Edmund stood panting above the downed instructor. Calvin rushed to his side protectively. As his vision cleared Edmund noticed two officers standing before him. One bent to check on the still form lying on the practice field, motionless. The other strode to Edmund, took the rifle from his hands, and glared into his sweaty face. Edmund's eyes held the other man's for several seconds, then he lowered them to the ground.

"Young man, you are not a student here. Are you?"

Edmund shook his head. The officer continued to stare at his disheveled condition, his bare feet and his bloody torso. 

"Why were you fighting one of our instructors? Answer me!"

Edmund met the older man's eyes and replied, "Sir, it was a matter of honor."

"Humph! What honor is there for a man to better a youth? Go on your way now. And do not repeat this behavior."

Edmund turned to retrieve his clothes. Before he had gone ten yards the officer called him back. "Wait. I would like to offer you the chance to attend this institution. Though it is usually reserved for those of the upper class, your natural abilities make you a good candidate. What is your name?"

The smile that lifted Edmund's lips did not extend to his expressive eyes as he replied. "Sir, I am Edmund Murray."

The British officer started, his eyes widened in disbelief. "Murray! You are scheduled to be enrolled here next semester. What are you doing dueling barefooted against one of our instructors?"

"Please forgive me, sir, but that question would be better put to your instructor. Good evening." Edmund turned decisively and gathered his belongings. He quickly dressed and was once more the proper English youth. Calvin walked beside him, his hand on Edmund's shoulder in affection. Together they walked into the armory, through the massive doors, into the paneled hall and out the double doors into the damp evening air.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Later that evening John Murray summoned his son. Understanding the reason for the summons, Edmund gritted his teeth but obeyed. Calvin's warm brown eyes glowed with sympathy as he watched his friend walk slowly through the door. When he followed Joseph into the library his dark head was high though his heart pounded inside his chest. His father stood before the fireplace, hands clasped tightly behind his back.

"Sit down, Edmund." John Murray's voice was low, menacing.

Edmund sat carefully on one of the silken chairs his father had placed before the fire. The flames lit the dark room, making the brass fixtures gleam.

"Explain to me."

Edmund swallowed nervously. Though not afraid of his father, the thirst for acceptance and affection was ever present deep in his heart. But long ago he had decided that his father was incapable of giving either. So pushing his emotions aside, he replied.

"What is it that you wish me to explain sir?"

John did not turn but replied angrily. "Why did you not meet with Commander Holmes as I demanded? Why did you disobey me yet again?"

"I will not attend the Academy, father. I have always told you the truth. When I graduate from Oxford this spring I will return to Kentucky. I have never pretended otherwise."

The words echoed off the paneled walls. John Murray gave no indication that he had heard. The clock in the hall chimed its heavy notes. Slowly the tall man turned to face his son. His face was tight with anger. 

"I see. But you deem it acceptable to fight one of the Academy's instructors with a bayonet. Barefooted, your shirt loosened, nearly naked. I do not understand your behavior. Explain it to me. If you can." 

The implication was plain, and Edmund colored. "Sir, he challenged me."

The Earl's red eyebrows rose in amazement. "You dare to lie to me?" The tall heavy man slowly approached his son, menace evident is every line of his body. 

"Sir, it is no lie. I was standing before the building where you left me. Captain Fletcher brushed my shoulder in passing, insulted me, and challenged me. I simply accepted the challenge."

John's light blue eyes searched his son's for several seconds. Then his red head lifted proudly. "You did the honorable thing then, Edmund. By God, I will ruin this Burkitt Fletcher!" 

The Earl clasped his hands before himself, caressing one with the other. "You defeated an instructor at the Royal Military Academy. With a bayonet. Wonderful! Your rise should be even more rapid than I had first thought. I may have misjudged your 'native' abilities, Edmund. Well done!"

"Father." Edmund's voice was soft but firm.

The Earl's red eyebrows lifted in question. He continued to stand before his son, his face lit with a satisfied smile.

"This changes nothing. I will not attend the Academy. I am going home."

The Earl stared into his son's eyes. The firm decision beamed from the brown depths. The Earl's proud body seemed to shrink, his blue eyes filmed over with final understanding. Clamping his lips tightly the defeated man coldly turned and passed through the library doors leaving his determined, victorious son seated before the warm fire.

Epilogue

Waking with the first light, Mingo pulled himself upright and leaned on Daniel's rifle. Slowly but with determination he walked the three miles to the rocky gorge. He heard the sound of rifle fire and rushed to balance the long, heavy gun against a tree. Though painful, he supported the rifle with his wounded arm and fired. His final shot ended the attempt on Washington's life.

The carriage ride with the President was very satisfying. When the carriage arrived at its evening destination Washington insisted that the settlement doctor care for Mingo's wound. After a bandage was tightly bound to the bleeding hole Washington himself draped one of his shirts over Mingo's shoulders. Then the Cherokee sat weakly enjoying the hot buttered rum provided by the President. As he drowsily sipped the hot brew Daniel walked into the large taproom.

"Daniel! I am certainly relieved to see that you have arrived."

Daniel grinned at his friend's tipsy greeting and strode to his side. He beckoned the tavern keeper to bring a hot rum for himself, then sat and stretched his long legs in relief. 

"How was your visit with the President, Mingo? Did you get your message across to the General?"

"I believe that I was successful, Daniel. We are going fishing."

Daniel's red eyebrows danced in amusement. Then he reached out his mug and clicked it against Mingo's own. "Don't beat him too bad now Mingo. Remember, he is the president." Mingo nodded. He grinned into his friend's eyes mischievously. 

"What have you done with 'Edgar Newton', Daniel?"

"Buried him where he can do the most good for the colonies, my friend. Right under a little sapling elm."

"Very fitting. He always did aspire to greatness and now he'll be the tallest tree in the gorge. I do hope that you left a marker."

"I did. I marked the elm with his name: Edgar Newton."

Mingo smiled and nodded. Then the two patriots clicked their mugs once more, drained their rum, and went to their well-deserved rest. Beneath the elm, Birkett Fletcher, alias Edgar Newton, had already found his own.

CC 3/22/08


End file.
